CHAPTER X
THE LADY OF THE ROSES
It was a new world, indeed, that David created for Joe after that--aworld that had to do with entrancing music where once was silence;delightful companionship where once was loneliness; and toothsomecookies and doughnuts where once was hunger.
The Widow Glaspell, Joe's mother, worked out by the day, scrubbing andwashing; and Joe, perforce, was left to the somewhat erratic anddecidedly unskillful ministrations of Betty. Betty was no worse, and nobetter, than any other untaught, irresponsible twelve-year-old girl,and it was not to be expected, perhaps, that she would care to spendall the bright sunny hours shut up with her sorely afflicted andsomewhat fretful brother. True, at noon she never failed to appear andprepare something that passed for a dinner for herself and Joe. But theGlaspell larder was frequently almost as empty as were the hungrystomachs that looked to it for refreshment; and it would have taken afar more skillful cook than was the fly-away Betty to evolve anythingfrom it that was either palatable or satisfying.
With the coming of David into Joe's life all this was changed. First,there were the music and the companionship. Joe's father had "played inthe band" in his youth, and (according to the Widow Glaspell) had beena "powerful hand for music." It was from him, presumably, that Joe hadinherited his passion for melody and harmony; and it was no wonder thatDavid recognized so soon in the blind boy the spirit that made themkin. At the first stroke of David's bow, indeed, the dingy walls aboutthem would crumble into nothingness, and together the two boys were offin a fairy world of loveliness and joy.
Nor was listening always Joe's part. From "just touching" theviolin--his first longing plea--he came to drawing a timid bow acrossthe strings. In an incredibly short time, then, he was picking out bitsof melody; and by the end of a fortnight David had brought his father'sviolin for Joe to practice on.
"I can't GIVE it to you--not for keeps," David had explained, a bittremulously, "because it was daddy's, you know; and when I see it, itseems almost as if I was seeing him. But you may take it. Then you canhave it here to play on whenever you like."
After that, in Joe's own hands lay the power to transport himself intoanother world, for with the violin for company he knew no loneliness.
Nor was the violin all that David brought to the house. There were thedoughnuts and the cookies. Very early in his visits David haddiscovered, much to his surprise, that Joe and Betty were often hungry.
"But why don't you go down to the store and buy something?" he hadqueried at once.
Upon being told that there was no money to buy with, David's firstimpulse had been to bring several of the gold-pieces the next time hecame; but upon second thoughts David decided that he did not dare. Hewas not wishing to be called a thief a second time. It would be better,he concluded, to bring some food from the house instead.
In his mountain home everything the house afforded in the way of foodhad always been freely given to the few strangers that found their wayto the cabin door. So now David had no hesitation in going to Mrs.Holly's pantry for supplies, upon the occasion of his next visit to JoeGlaspell's.
Mrs. Holly, coming into the kitchen, found him merging from the pantrywith both hands full of cookies and doughnuts.
"Why, David, what in the world does this mean?" she demanded.
"They're for Joe and Betty," smiled David happily.
"For Joe and--But those doughnuts and cookies don't belong to you.They're mine!"
"Yes, I know they are. I told them you had plenty," nodded David.
"Plenty! What if I have?" remonstrated Mrs. Holly, in growingindignation. "That doesn't mean that you can take--" Something inDavid's face stopped the words half-spoken.
"You don't mean that I CAN'T take them to Joe and Betty, do you? Why,Mrs. Holly, they're hungry! Joe and Betty are. They don't have halfenough to eat. Betty said so. And we've got more than we want. There'sfood left on the table every day. Why, if YOU were hungry, wouldn't youwant somebody to bring--"
But Mrs. Holly stopped him with a despairing gesture.
"There, there, never mind. Run along. Of course you can take them.I'm--I'm GLAD to have you," she finished, in a desperate attempt todrive from David's face that look of shocked incredulity with which hewas still regarding her.
Never again did Mrs. Holly attempt to thwart David's generosity to theGlaspells; but she did try to regulate it. She saw to it thatthereafter, upon his visits to the house, he took only certain thingsand a certain amount, and invariably things of her own choosing.
But not always toward the Glaspell shanty did David turn his steps.Very frequently it was in quite another direction. He had been at theHolly farmhouse three weeks when he found his Lady of the Roses.
He had passed quite through the village that day, and had come to aroad that was new to him. It was a beautiful road, smooth, white, andfirm. Two huge granite posts topped with flaming nasturtiums marked thepoint where it turned off from the main highway. Beyond these, as Davidsoon found, it ran between wide-spreading lawns and flowering shrubs,leading up the gentle slope of a hill. Where it led to, David did notknow, but he proceeded unhesitatingly to try to find out. For some timehe climbed the slope in silence, his violin, mute, under his arm; butthe white road still lay in tantalizing mystery before him when aby-path offered the greater temptation, and lured him to explore itscool shadowy depths instead.
Had David but known it, he was at Sunny-crest, Hinsdale's one "showplace," the country home of its one really rich resident, Miss BarbaraHolbrook. Had he also but known it, Miss Holbrook was not celebratedfor her graciousness to any visitors, certainly not to those whoventured to approach her otherwise than by a conventional ring at herfront doorbell. But David did not know all this; and he therefore veryhappily followed the shady path until he came to the Wonder at the endof it.
The Wonder, in Hinsdale parlance, was only Miss Holbrook's garden, butin David's eyes it was fairyland come true. For one whole minute hecould only stand like a very ordinary little boy and stare. At the endof the minute he became himself once more; and being himself, heexpressed his delight at once in the only way he knew how to do--byraising his violin and beginning to play.
He had meant to tell of the limpid pool and of the arch of the bridgeit reflected; of the terraced lawns and marble steps, and of thegleaming white of the sculptured nymphs and fauns; of the splashes ofglorious crimson, yellow, blush-pink, and snowy white against thegreen, where the roses rioted in luxurious bloom. He had meant, also,to tell of the Queen Rose of them all--the beauteous lady with hairlike the gold of sunrise, and a gown like the shimmer of the moon onwater--of all this he had meant to tell; but he had scarcely begun totell it at all when the Beauteous Lady of the Roses sprang to her feetand became so very much like an angry young woman who is seriouslydispleased that David could only lower his violin in dismay.
"Why, boy, what does this mean?" she demanded.
David sighed a little impatiently as he came forward into the sunlight.
"But I was just telling you," he remonstrated, "and you would not letme finish."
"Telling me!"
"Yes, with my violin. COULDn't you understand?" appealed the boywistfully. "You looked as if you could!"
"Looked as if I could!"
"Yes. Joe understood, you see, and I was surprised when HE did. But Iwas just sure you could--with all this to look at."
The lady frowned. Half-unconsciously she glanced about her as ifcontemplating flight. Then she turned back to the boy.
"But how came you here? Who are you?" she cried.
"I'm David. I walked here through the little path back there. I didn'tknow where it went to, but I'm so glad now I found out!"
"Oh, are you!" murmured the lady, with slightly uplifted brows.
She was about to tell him very coldly that now that he had found hisway there he might occupy himself in finding it home again, when theboy interposed rapturously, his eyes sweeping the scene before him:--
"Yes. I didn't suppo
se, anywhere, down here, there was a place one halfso beautiful!"
An odd feeling of uncanniness sent a swift exclamation to the lady'slips.
"'Down here'! What do you mean by that? You speak as if you camefrom--above," she almost laughed.
"I did," returned David simply. "But even up there I never foundanything quite like this,"--with a sweep of his hands,--"nor like you,O Lady of the Roses," he finished with an admiration that was as openas it was ardent.
This time the lady laughed outright. She even blushed a little.
"Very prettily put, Sir Flatterer" she retorted; "but when you areolder, young man, you won't make your compliments quite so broad. I amno Lady of the Roses. I am Miss Holbrook; and--and I am not in thehabit of receiving gentlemen callers who are uninvitedand--unannounced," she concluded, a little sharply.
Pointless the shaft fell at David's feet. He had turned again to thebeauties about him, and at that moment he spied the sundial--somethinghe had never seen before.
"What is it?" he cried eagerly, hurrying forward. "It isn't exactlypretty, and yet it looks as if 't were meant for--something."
"It is. It is a sundial. It marks the time by the sun."
Even as she spoke, Miss Holbrook wondered why she answered the questionat all; why she did not send this small piece of nonchalantimpertinence about his business, as he so richly deserved. The nextinstant she found herself staring at the boy in amazement. Withunmistakable ease, and with the trained accent of the scholar, he wasreading aloud the Latin inscription on the dial: "'Horas non numeronisi serenas,' 'I count--no--hours but--unclouded ones,'" he translatedthen, slowly, though with confidence. "That's pretty; but what does itmean--about 'counting'?"
Miss Holbrook rose to her feet.
"For Heaven's sake, boy, who, and what are you?" she demanded. "Can YOUread Latin?"
"Why, of course! Can't you?" With a disdainful gesture Miss Holbrookswept this aside.
"Boy, who are you?" she demanded again imperatively.
"I'm David. I told you."
"But David who? Where do you live?"
The boy's face clouded.
"I'm David--just David. I live at Farmer Holly's now; but I did live onthe mountain with--father, you know."
A great light of understanding broke over Miss Holbrook's face. Shedropped back into her seat.
"Oh, I remember," she murmured. "You're the little--er--boy whom hetook. I have heard the story. So THAT is who you are," she added, theold look of aversion coming back to her eyes. She had almost said "thelittle tramp boy"--but she had stopped in time.
"Yes. And now what do they mean, please,--those words,--'I count nohours but unclouded ones'?"
Miss Holbrook stirred in her seat and frowned.
"Why, it means what it says, of course, boy. A sundial counts its hoursby the shadow the sun throws, and when there is no sun there is noshadow; hence it's only the sunny hours that are counted by the dial,"she explained a little fretfully.
David's face radiated delight.
"Oh, but I like that!" he exclaimed.
"You like it!"
"Yes. I should like to be one myself, you know."
"Well, really! And how, pray?" In spite of herself a faint gleam ofinterest came into Miss Holbrook's eyes.
David laughed and dropped himself easily to the ground at her feet. Hewas holding his violin on his knees now.
"Why, it would be such fun," he chuckled, "to just forget all about thehours when the sun didn't shine, and remember only the nice, pleasantones. Now for me, there wouldn't be any hours, really, until after fouro'clock, except little specks of minutes that I'd get in between when IDID see something interesting."
Miss Holbrook stared frankly.
"What an extraordinary boy you are, to be sure," she murmured. "Andwhat, may I ask, is it that you do every day until four o'clock, thatyou wish to forget?"
David sighed.
"Well, there are lots of things. I hoed potatoes and corn, first, butthey're too big now, mostly; and I pulled up weeds, too, till they weregone. I've been picking up stones, lately, and clearing up the yard.Then, of course, there's always the woodbox to fill, and the eggs tohunt, besides the chickens to feed,--though I don't mind THEM so much;but I do the other things, 'specially the weeds. They were so muchprettier than the things I had to let grow, 'most always."
Miss Holbrook laughed.
"Well, they were; and really" persisted the boy, in answer to themerriment in her eyes; "now wouldn't it be nice to be like the sundial,and forget everything the sun didn't shine on? Would n't you like it?Isn't there anything YOU want to forget?"
Miss Holbrook sobered instantly. The change in her face was so verymarked, indeed, that involuntarily David looked about for somethingthat might have cast upon it so great a shadow. For a long minute shedid not speak; then very slowly, very bitterly, she said aloud--yet asif to herself:--
"Yes. If I had my way I'd forget them every one--these hours; everysingle one!"
"Oh, Lady of the Roses!" expostulated David in a voice quivering withshocked dismay. "You don't mean--you can't mean that you don't haveANY--sun!"
"I mean just that," bowed Miss Holbrook wearily, her eyes on the sombershadows of the pool; "just that!"
David sat stunned, confounded. Across the marble steps and the terracesthe shadows lengthened, and David watched them as the sun dipped behindthe tree-tops. They seemed to make more vivid the chill and the gloomof the lady's words--more real the day that had no sun. After a timethe boy picked up his violin and began to play, softly, and at firstwith evident hesitation. Even when his touch became more confident,there was still in the music a questioning appeal that seemed to findno answer--an appeal that even the player himself could not haveexplained.
For long minutes the young woman and the boy sat thus in the twilight.Then suddenly the woman got to her feet.
"Come, come, boy, what can I be thinking of?" she cried sharply. "Imust go in and you must go home. Good-night." And she swept across thegrass to the path that led toward the house.